© Madsen Adventure 3
By A. Shakhete
St. Luke protecting me cuzz Officer Dunno doesn’t believe a word I say about Benjamin. Ha! No skin off my ass. Son-bitch.
Dunno says, “No more trespassing. I’ll have to arrest you.”
I nod. Force my big hand back in my pocket. Protect my wad. Stroll outta there, whistling an old Scandinavian toon my dada used to whistle, when he was happy. Like right after paying mom a visit in the back room.
When I’m outta earshot of Dunno, I phone, “Jody my angel,” I call her. “I’m out walkin’ off that greasy chicken fried steak. Got gas real bad. Still fartin’ up a storm. Don’t wanna stink up the cottage.”
“Well you do that Haraldr,” she says, which means I’m still in the dog house. Any other time I’d be bothered. This time I got reason to be happy. Wanna share some of my found wealth with my guys. Brewskees on the house!
Outside Teddy’s, walkers some of ‘em homeless drunkards find Lumpkin’s hidden seven steps down at the bottom of an almost vacant building on 10th street in old town. Heavy wood door with a Schooner window, keeps out the little noise coming from the street. Once inside, down two measly steps lands me inside what we call the dungeon. The front bar to the right of me smacks me in the gut almost. It’s that close to the steps. The lowlight in here is just ripe for hittin’ brewskees. Won’t startle ya when your eyes droop from drinkin’ too much. Like me and my two buddies Joe and Ronnie do sometime. They’re warming up the stools chugging on bottle. Joe uses a glass.
The three of us know Teddy the owner from the warehouse we all work at. Teddy retired 5 years ago and bought this place. His wife Rita helps he out. She’s hittin’ 50 but is one of the cutest Brunettes I’ve ever seen.
“Hey Harold,” yells Joe the Jew.
“Harold my man,” my Negro friend Ronnie says. Always grinnin’ showing off the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen and he’s black as night, a good-lookin’ ol’ son-bitch. Jody whispered that in my ear once when I introduced her to him. We was at a company gathering where the three of us work—me, Joe and Ronnie. “Bubba,” she said. “Your friend is hella scrumptious. The football player type.” Then she kisses my cheek letting me know I’m her only.
“Hey Joe, hey Ronnie” I yell back. Making it up to the bar, I slam my hand on the counter between Joe and Ronnie.
Patting Joe on the back, setting my face right in front of his, I say, “Your wife let you out on a Thursday night, brother?”
“She put me out,” Ronnie laughs.
Joe snickers.
Teddy the bar owner standin’ in front of us now. Sets me down a Rainer. Unhooks the cap, drops the top in his empty hand, “Hey Harold. You get put out too?”
Grabbing my Rainer, I move to Ronnie’s left. Plop my wide ass down on the stool. “I gotta excuse. I bet Ronnie here, really ran out. Your wife cookin’ them stank ass pig guts?”
Joe snickers.
“Naw man. She only makes them for friends like you Harold.”
Scrunching my nose remembering the god-awful taste, I say, “Wrong of you brother to trick a friend into eatin’ guts.”
Joe snickers. Short and stout is what he is. Beer rounds out his gut like the rest of us.
“What the hell happened to you?” Teddy asks me. He tips his forehead at my shirt.
I look down, “Uhhh, I’m wearing some of Jody’s dinner.”
Then I remember, “Oh, hey Teddy, drinks on me. For my friends here. Hell, give ‘em a round in the corner.” I nod my head toward the interracials.
Teddy arches his brows. “You getta raise?”
“No. Just feelin’ mighty good today.”
Ronnie says, “How ‘bout whiskeys instead?”
“Whiskey makes me frisky,” I say this right as Teddy’s Brunette wife Rita, wearing tight jeans, low cut red blouse showin’ her tanned cleavage walks up. Holdin’ an empty drink tray she just emptied at the interracials table nearest the piss-room. A white haired, wrinkled faced white dude, a young black chick. We know what that’s about I’m thinkin’. Ronnie would be offended if he heard my thoughts.
“All black women ain’t hoes,” he yells at me and Joe once. He says this after I mumbled how much for this one Negro girl who had come in here. Tall, gorgeous, big eyed, almond colored skin, lanky thing with long blonde locks. Not hers. Big tits. Big butt. Right behind her come a Negro man. I was thinkin’ he’s one lucky son-bitch. Joe says he wished black women would just be natural. I think like his wife who wears a short afro. Lookin’ manly though. Not ‘cause of her hair. I’ve seen good lookin’ Negro women with short hair. Ronnie’s wife is an exception. Eatin’ too many pig guts I s’pect. Pigs are short and fat. Ronnie’s wife short and fat.
I reach in my pocket for a Benjamin. Pull it out. Slap it down on Rita’s tray. Her mouth drops wide. Ronnie’s back straightens. Joe stops snickering peers around Ronnie. She drops her hand on top Benny, fast-walks around to the back of the counter. Stands next to Teddy. Lifts up her hand. He drops his eyes, pulls his neck back. Eyes roll back up, looking at me with raised eyebrows.
“What you do?” he asks in earshot of us bar-mates.
“Long story,” I says.
The bar door opens. Slams after lettin’ in a burly white cowboy. Stomp, stomp, stomp down the two measly steps he comes. Cowboy hat half covers the top of his bushy brows, Chinese-like eyes. Mustache atop his ain’t smiling lips. Typical cowboy vest, calico shirt and boots on his person. Plops down on the stool at the far-left end of the bar. On my side. Teddy leans close to Rita, “Give ‘em what they want.”
Push my head forward, lower it quietly addin’, “Give us a couple hundred worth of rounds. Keep a hundred for yourself. Give me back the rest for Jody.”
Rita nods. Teddy walks down to the cowboy.
“What got your cool Bud?” says Teddy. He knows him.
“Went to pick up somethin’. Damn cop staking out the place. Told me to scram.”
My ear puckers up.
“Oh yeah,” says Teddy.
“Yeam,” says cowboy Bud. “Kindergarten cop Dunno can’t stand there all night. Just have to wait him out.”
